Why do we race?I'm not going to pretend that I can answer that question here, or anywhere else. I've thought about it a lot, and it always just leads to a litany of philosophical truisms, none of which are particularly insightful or unique. But sometimes I have a good answer.
I race for days like this one.
Coming into this race, I couldn't decide if I should focus on the Masters' 30+ race, where I'd yet to make the top ten, or put all my eggs into the cat 4 race, where, if all went well, I had a shot at the podium (though my highest finish has been 7th). Whichever one I did, it would be my last race as a cat 4.
I finally decided that I just love cross racing, and that I'd do both, damn the target races. I've learned a ton in this, my first full season as a proper sanctioned racer, but mostly I've learned that I love cross, and I just love to grind it out.
Grind. It. Out.
The kind of race where one day you finish in 13th and think "hell YES!" The kind of racing where, all of a sudden, at the 40 minute mark, you start reeling in and picking off some of the guys that ditched you at the start (hence my attraction to the longer and harder Masters' races, as the 4s are just about over by then). The hecklers, the pain, the tailgating.
So I figured I'd be happy with a top ten finish in Masters', or a top five in the 4s, with a little daydream of making the podium. The bike has pretty much fallen to pieces in the last few weeks, and as a result, I'd been hemorrhaging money along the way...a new tire, then another, chainring, chain, ss cog, brakepads, cables, and pedals. I hate installing/tweaking canti brakes, so I dropped it off to Justin at Turin. He tuned it and cleaned it up, and did not take any shortcuts: new bearings in the bb, and he "found" some bar tape and endcaps for me. That thing was dialed in, as dialed in as a $500, seven-year-old singlespeed can be. He pointed out that my front wheel was looking rough, but I explained that it was a twelve-year-old ex-messenger wheel, so I'd be happy if it just got me through the day.
Sunrise: it was 7 degrees outside. The Masters' race went off and it wasn't much warmer. My team hadn't shown up yet, and my family was tied up. A brawly start with 20 guys going sideways powering through the slush. I cleaned the 4 s-curves as best I could (with my slack turning radius) and found myself in 12th on the first climb up the hill. I thought "great, I have 50 minutes to pick off two guys and I'm in the top ten." 2-3 guys passed me, I passed 2-3 guys faltered in a turn, and I had no idea what my position was.
So often in these races, if you're not contesting for the win, you're locked in a man-to-man battle with whomever's nearby. I was ten seconds off Walid, a guy from Van Wagners/Yojimbo's. I'd finished just behind him in another Masters' race this season, but it was a "hundred yards ahead of me" kind of finish. This time, he was ten seconds ahead of me for most of the race. The thing about cross is, ten seconds can be ten feet away in a technical runup/barrier switchback, or it can be a hundred feet in a downhill. I'd close to three seconds, and he'd unwind again and ditch me. Somewhere along the way, my team showed up, and made up for lost time by chasing me through the turns with a bullhorn aimed at me. Good times.
I pretty much thought I lost Van Wagners, and I was just grinding it out, trying not to count remaining laps, and I crept up on him again. We were on the final lap, being lapped by the leaders, and maybe he was a little complacent and not seeing me. We turned out of the downhill, into a long smooth straightaway, and I caught his eye. Damn. He wound up the speed to keep me from attacking, and I thought "that's it...there aren't many places to pass on this course, and I just missed this one." But I noticed he faded, and fast. Perhaps I could still wind it up and get the corner before the barriers? I kicked it up, and it seemed I wasn't going to make it...he could literally just pause, hesitate, block me...take up too much space going into the barrier/corner...but he didn't. A rather sporting move! We went over side-by-side and I had the inside coming out. "You got me!" he said as I leapt back on.
He was there the rest of the lap, sometimes close. One mistake and he'd get the spot back (and they are easy to make in the snow, especially late in a race, when you're sloppy). I kept it clean to the finish to come in 8th, my best finish in a Masters' race. Almost certainly the top cat 4 in the race, not that it counts for squat, but I was happy to find out Walid is a highly regarded cat 2 track racer. Beating someone like that feels like a win for me.
It was hard not to go to the Cuttin' Cruiser and just start drinking hot spiked cider and chowing hot dogs. But I'd already purchased my second race number, knowing I'd lose momentum. So I defrosted my toes, hung out on the cruiser, cheered out the windows, sat in a pile of warm bodies...some prepping to race, some just spectating. Our fearless leader was fine-tuning the tandem for the 4b race, the squad was pinning numbers and taking practice laps, and the rest were drinking and whatnot, cranking Public Enemy, which seems to be the only disc on the bus. I was just trying to stay warm. I'd planned on bringing out the (now barred) Jordan jersey, and I didn't want to risk catching a chill first.
On to cat 4: The regional administrator (who's forbidden me from racing with uncovered shoulders) was tied up sorting results, and the start line official just laughed at me. Jordan was in. More bodies in the start, not so many of them strong. I was in 6th going into the first climb, and I knew the guy in 5th would fade soon. I could feel racers behind me, but I can't start looking backwards so early in a race; it makes me lose focus on catching the guy in front of me. I went over the double barrier to discover a patch of ice had formed on the inside line. I went down, but so did the guy behind me, and nobody passed us. He made a deep groan; the kind that makes you think he's not getting right back up. A brief "whew" entered my mind and I resumed the chase without losing any spots. I came around a few switches and saw him still standing there. Shit! It was my teammate Bradley. In retrospect I felt kinda bad, but I didn't bring him down (we both did the same thing on the same ice patch). I had been covering the corners supertight, thinking someone might make a move, but had I known it was him, I wouldn't have protected so hard. Hell, if he thought I was holding him back, I would have let him by.
I resumed the hunt, now in fourth. Somehow I slipped past a Pony Shop rider. I realized I was in third. The podium! It was a fine balance between chasing down the two leaders and making sure I didn't take a chance that would slide me out. At one point, he passed me on the climb, but I don't know what came over me, I countered on the outside, in the deeper snow, longer line, steeper rise...and closed it down. He never got so close again.
I "almost" caught Henry (Pegasus) in second, but he wasn't wearing down late in the race the way most were; he was still able to wind it up and get distance here and there. I rolled across the line in third...my highest placing ever, and good for a bronze medal! I finished 17th in this race last year!
Turns out...maybe a silver medal? Nobody (except for Henry) was thrilled to find out that the winner didn't hold an annual license, and was therefore ineligible (and didn't find out until the start line). So maybe we slotted up a spot, but who cares, we all know who really won the championship. I personally think the officials jerked him around, as they said "if he'd asked to convert to an annual license at the start line, they would have accommodated him" but not so after the race. Lame.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, our team President, Jeff, the owner/captain of the Cuttin' Cruiser, was presented with an all-around "Awesomeness" trophy from another team and a bunch of fans...for showing up, rockin' the bus, cheering, grilling, occasionally racing, and just bringing it. (Unfortunately he didn't get more than half a lap into the 4b race before an Official pulled he and Adam for riding a tandem.) That's why he's the prez.
One thing that can't go unmentioned. I got serious noise for rocking Jordan colors. A bunch of people knew my name, the rest called me EMJAY! and quite a few called me fucking crazy. The family showed up during the race, and even my father-in-law was running back and forth across the bridge so he wouldn't miss any action.
On a more somber note, the only thing that really sucks about getting my two best results ever, and hanging out with the most rocking (and occasionally ass-kicking) team, on the last racing day of a crazy year...Bradley broke his ankle in his fall. He doesn't seem to be too phased by it, but damn. We had the same fall, at the same spot, at the same time. I got a big purple bruise on my kneecap, and he got a cast. Damn.
Half the fun of cross is trolling flickr, ego surfing for action shots. These shots were swiped from ffonst's flickr stream. There's something about this one that really captures the day...the panorama, the desolate windswept spot overlooking the beach, somewhere between second and fourth place, just Grinding It Out.
1 comment:
All hail His Airness!
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